


Tough Business to Get Into

by kappa77



Series: Of Speakeasies and Secrets (1920s AU) [1]
Category: Thrilling Intent (Web Series)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate Universe - Mob, Gen, Gun Violence, Light Angst, Speakeasies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-18
Updated: 2017-01-18
Packaged: 2018-09-18 07:02:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9373430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kappa77/pseuds/kappa77
Summary: She sat up straight in her chair. “I’m bored… let’s start selling liquor.”He barely registered himself standing up as he tried to process what his friend just said, “Inien…”“What?” she said, innocently fixing her hair in the huge mirror in front of her.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [infernalspectre](https://archiveofourown.org/users/infernalspectre/gifts).



> My secret tax goat for hexmaniacinien!!
> 
> Betad by the amazing finley

The aftermath of a show was always loud. Giggling girls critiquing their performance based on both what they thought and what the director saw. The flurry of feet making their way to dressing rooms and removing make-up, getting out of those extravagant (and skimpy) costumes to more practical clothing (that was still called skimpy by some older people) in order to head out for the night. Cigarette smoke filled the air, the clear alternative ever since Prohibition hit for a legal means of winding down after a big show.

Within the chaos, Markus was always able to slip in. Not like he wasn’t allowed, he was the lights and effects director, but it made it easier when everyone was moving to go into his friend’s room without questions being asked, mainly, “Are you and Inien going out?”

Which was ridiculous, Inien had been his closest friend ever since he got into show business.

She was snarky and strong willed and would be the very definition of a flapper if it wasn’t for the fact she refused to cut her hair.

It was easier, however, to just leave people guessing about their relationship status so they wouldn’t question other parts about Markus’ life… and Inien’s, for that matter. Performers were far too nosy.

So, he would slip into her dressing room while everyone was too busy to notice.

Tonight, Inien was quiet, which in Markus’ experience was never a good thing.

Especially with that look on her face, that vacant stare that meant she was thinking of something.

She sat up straight in her chair. “I’m bored… let’s start selling liquor.”

He barely registered himself standing up as he tried to process what his friend just said, “Inien…”

“What?” she said, innocently fixing her hair in the huge mirror in front of her.

“You don’t just _sell_ alcohol. And why would you even want to do that?”

“I told you, I’m bored,” she said, matter-of-factly.

“You’re on _Broadway_!” He gestured wildly at her dressing room around her. “How is that boring?”

She shrugged and turned her chair to look at him. “It has for me, and besides, I’ve already thought part of it out.”

“I… how?”

“My cousin, Colvin. Even though he’s still in far east, he’s just as annoyed about Prohibition as we are, probably moreso because the U.S. was a huge import for him.” She explained casually, reaching for a cigarette. “So we started talking about getting his product over here. At first, I would’ve been selling to other speakeasies and splitting the profit with Colvin.” A small _flick_ and she lit her cigarette. “But I’ve been thinking, why not run it myself? Cut out the middle man, make more money overall, and maybe even get out of Broadway once I have enough dough.”

Markus pinched his nose and let out a breath. “Yes, that’s very business savvy and all. But,” he dropped his voice to a whisper, “You are still talking about illegal business! Who’s to say this doesn’t go completely wrong?!”

She shrugged, letting a stream of smoke pass through her lips. “I’ll never know if I don’t try.”

He sighed, lowering his head in his hands as she put on her coat. “You. Are. Incorrigible.”

She turned to him after straightening her collar. “And you are incapable of thinking outside the box.”

Looking up, he was just able to catch the door shutting behind her. “Oh no, no, no,” he muttered, grabbing his coat and following her.

She was easy enough to catch up with. She had barely made it outside the building when he caught up with her.

“So, what are you going to do now?” he asked, falling into step with her.

“I need to talk with someone.”

“Okay, if we’re going to do this, you need to be less cryptic. And tell me shit like this earlier.”

She looked up at him, smirking, “ ‘We?’ ”

“Of course, we both know I’m the better talker out of the two of us. And you need all the help you can get if you’re going to do this.”

“Alright, we’re meeting someone with experience in this business. He’s had brief interactions with my cousin, so that’s how I know him. He agreed to help set this up.”

“Wow, sounds like a good guy.”

Inien snorted loud enough for people passing by to look over at them. Markus stared down at her confused.

“What? What’d I say?”

“Oh nothing. You’ll see.”

“Again with being cryptic.”

-=-=-=-=-

The man lived in a tenement house, which was a fancy word for the shittiest apartments you could ever think of. Overcrowded, dark, and dirty, it ended up being the homes to most immigrants upon coming to the New World. Markus and Inien both glanced to each other, both knowing the other was thinking of their childhood spent in one. Markus had been the lucky one, only spending about eight years in one as his family moved upstate to work as live-in servants to a politician. Inien hadn’t been so lucky and spent her entire childhood in one till she was eighteen.

“Come on, he said he had the afternoon free today.” Inien bounded up the steps, the excitement of starting her own speakeasy overriding the memories that threatened to spill over. Markus followed close behind.

This tenement house was made out of an old, four story house that had been a rich man’s house before he moved out to the cleaner countryside. Now it was packed with mainly Russian immigrants. As Markus and Inien climbed the stairs, they couldn’t help being be jealous of how cleaner this house was in comparison to the ones they lived in. The government had made tenement housing more bearable to live in. Not comfortable by any means, but there were windows and it didn’t feel like the flu would wipe out an entire building in a night.

The man’s room was on the third floor, last door on the left side. After passing a large family loudly speaking in a language neither Inien or Markus could understand, they knocked on door marked 47 by two mismatched numbers.

There was a long pause as no one answered. Markus was about to knock again when the door flew open, revealing a man with slicked back, black hair and wearing a wrinkled white button up and vest.

“What do you want?” he asked, looking between the two of them unamused.

Inien stepped forward. “Hi, my name is Inien. My cousin told me to come here in order to start up my… business.”

“Ah, you are Inien, yes, yes, now I remember. But who is this man?”

Without skipping a beat, Markus took of his hat and bowed low. “Markus Tannhauser Velafi. At your service. I’m her… business partner.”

The man looked unimpressed by the grand gesture. “Yes, but how do I know you won’t sell us out.” At the confused looks he got from the other two, he stepped forward. I’ve talked with Inien, I don’t know you.” His Russian accent grew thicker with every word, every step he took. Before Markus realized, he was against the opposite wall with the Russian man’s stare keeping him in place.

“Look,” Markus started, “I’ve known Inien for a while. Even if I’m still unsure on someone who’s never had experience in this, throwing herself in the business, I’m not going to go behind your backs.”

It took a moment, but the man stepped away and walked into the apartment. “My roommates won’t be back until night, we’ll be okay.”

Markus gave Inien a worried look before she shrugged and followed. He took off his hat before following into the small apartment.

“Wait!” Markus said suddenly, pausing midstep. “What’s your name?”

A beat of silence. “Just call me Thog.”

Markus nodded as Thog started talking about setting up.

Even though he knew Thog didn’t trust him wholly, and Markus was still on the fence on the legitimacy of this mob business, he was still glad Thog was there, or else Inien would have no idea what to do. His knowledge was easily seen in his planning, how he seemed prepared for any situation; cops come in to the bar, being seen carrying crates after dark, all of it Thog had a way out which made this idea… feasible.

“Alright then, all we need is a base of operations, right?” Inien asked.

“Mhm, and I know the right place. It’s a coffee shop downtown called ‘Number Seven’.”

Markus and Inien exchanged a confused look.

“A coffeeshop?” Markus asked.

Thog grinned, for the first time since meeting them. “No one would suspect a thing. The owner is… a character.”

“But, is there going to be enough room in the basement?” Inien piped up.

“For now, we can out-source later, but this will be a good enough base of operations.” Thog leaned forward, seemingly growing more excited as the plan came together. “Now, if we send for the shipment this week, this means it’ll arrive in about three weeks.”

It was Inien’s turn to grin widely. “There’s a big opening night around then. Don’t you think the cast would enjoy some _ginger water_ , Markus?”

Markus stared at her before slowly shaking his head, a small smile growing.

“ _Ginger water_ sounds like something I’d be more inclined to say.”

-=-=-=-=-

The cast did enjoy the alcohol, no questions asked. Markus didn’t want to say it out loud, but the successful first selling made him more confident in this speakeasy business. It still scared him that he now owned a gun and had learned how to (sort of) shoot it as per Thog’s request.

“Jobs can get… rough” was all Thog gave as explanation, rubbing his left shoulder. He and Inien had simultaneously decided not to ask.

True to his word, the job did get rough. Second time the trio went to fetch the shipment, cops were patrolling. Markus had broken into a cold sweat the moment a flashlight’s beam passed by his feet. Quick thinking and stuffing his’ handkerchief in his mouth to keep him quiet rewarded them with the alcohol they paid for.

The bakery had also proved to be a decent base. Ol’ Inny was the character Thog promised, his ramblings petering off from English into Swiss and then into a weird combination of the two languages. Those who entered often wanted to buy what they need and leave, ignoring any signs of illicit activity.

They were all happy their business was off to a good start.

Something had to go wrong eventually.

It was their first European shipment, the good stuff from Colvin. Thog had predicted their profits to jump after these wares were bought. They needed this shipment to really bring the cash rolling.

The night seemed perfect, enough moonlight so they could see in front of them, but not enough to be spotted by the passing cop on the street opposite from the wharf.

Inien managed a handshake between the people unloading the goods before Markus turned, a noise setting him on edge.

“Did you-”

“As wary as we should be, it was probably a worker dropping something,” Thog supplied, pausing before putting an uncertain hand on Markus’ shoulder. “You need a nap once we get this shipment in the basement.”

He could only nod in agreement before turning to help the workers load the wares in the trunk parked nearby.

Markus managed to lift one of the smaller boxes when they all heard a “Hey!”

All heads turned, to a cop, who couldn’t have been more than 25, holding a gun. He looked more scared than they were.

“D-Drop it!” the cop yelled again, addressing Inien, about to pay the boat workers.

No one moved.

“I-I swear it!! I-I’ll shoot!” The gun was shaking. “3! 2!”

Markus couldn’t hear the rest, blood pounding in his head as he ran, going for his gun. He wasn’t even sure what he was going to do, just knowing there was no way this man was going to hurt Inien.

There was a **_bang!_** and Markus stopped.

He heard someone scream, but it wasn’t him. People were moving by him and when had he fallen onto the salt-encrusted wood of the dock? He only knew it hurt, oh Gods it hurt, how could something hurt this much?

He barely noticed the gunfire above him, only able to flinch every time he heard another shot.

Inien and Thog’s voices were muffled, like he’d been throw underwater.

From yards away, he could hear Thog yell, “I know where to take him!” before the pain brought him under.

-=-=-=-=-

It wasn’t clean, but it was clean enough. It wasn’t easy to get to, but considering how much blood was pouring from Markus’ hand, there was no other option. It wasn’t cheap, but it was better than explaining to nurses how he’d gotten a bullet in his hand.

The “underground hospital” actually just the basement of an abandoned building, the only traces of what it was were the chipped paint of “Alaran” on the front. They were allowed one day in this shit hole. One day before Markus had to give up the cot to another low life who couldn’t explain their injuries to professionals.

Inien stayed by his side the whole day, silently contemplating the bandages covering the 5 stitches in his hand. Thog, for once, was not so quiet.

“We weren’t ready. We should’ve prepared for. We need more people; people who know how to fight, at least one doctor…” He sat down on the other side of Markus, head in his hands. “Why am I even this concerned about you people? This isn’t my business.”

She glared at him. “Well, you’re basically family now after the shit we’ve been through. You’ve been a part of this since day one.”

He went quiet. They both did. They knew they had a lot to do; they had already lost money, only getting half the stock in the resulting shootout, recruitment of more people, selling what they could, establishing what exactly was this work relationship they had, but it could all wait.

-=-=-=-=-

Markus was now left handed now, still able to move his right hand, but the limits made it virtually impossible to use it for more than pointing and gesturing. For now, that was good enough as he and Inien descended the stairs to the club. Two weeks of scouting for new people led them to believe a man by the name of Gregor Hartway was the best for them.

He already had experience, being one of the front men for the Outriders, a notorious gang that had once ruled upper Manhattan, but one night had changed all that. Gregor was one of the few remaining people.

Markus and Inien gave the password and the entry fee as they entered. The place was huge, room for a bar, several tables and chairs, a dance floor and enough walk space to not feel crammed. Soft lighting gave the place a warm atmosphere despite the crimes everyone was committing but just standing there. The place was bustling, which was not a surprise for a Friday night.

The two walked toward the bar, eyes scanning the place for their man.

“Wait, wait, wait.” Markus stopped Inien with his good hand and quietly gestured with the other. “Is that him?”

He guided her line of sight to a shorter man with a ponytail sitting off in the corner, smiling to himself.

He wore simple clothes, a white collared shirt with pinstripes and brown slacks held up with red suspenders. From where they were, they could see the top of some blunt weapon leaned against an extra chair.

Inien nodded and the two started toward him. He only looked up when they were in front of him.

He smiled. “Hello.”

Markus smiled back, sticking his bad hand in his pocket. “Hello, my name is Markus Velafi, this is my associate Inien, and we were wondering if you’d like a job.”

Gregor paused. “That was a quick introduction.”

“We have limited time.” Inien said plainly as Markus picked up the conversation. “We need someone who can handle himself in a fight and we heard you were the one to talk to.”

The other man smiled. “What’s the job?”

“Helping to protect a bar like this, but better.” Markus winked.

“We want you in,” Inien deadpanned. “The pay’s good. What do you say?”

Gregor scratched his chin, considering it. “Can he come?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Who’s he?”

“He means me.”

The sudden voice behind her sent her nearly twenty feet in the air. She stumbled into Markus, who was equally unprepared for the new voice. The man calmly walked to Gregor’s side, a wide grin on his face.

“W-Who are you?” Inien asked, setting herself right.

“I’m Zalvetta, a pleasure.”

Gregor piped up, giving no reaction to the surprise entrance. “We’re kind of a team. I’m good brute force-”

“And you can imagine what I’m good at.” Another wide grin.

Markus looked to Inien. “We do need people…”

Inien looked directly at the two of them. “You’ll have to split a paycheck till our… business gets rolling.”

Zalvetta looked displeased, but Gregor looked hopeful, which seemed to sway his friend.

“Deal.”

-=-=-=-=-

“I’m surprised that went so well,” Markus commented as they exited the club. “Two for one? I’m calling that a good day.”

Inien didn’t look so impressed. “We still need a doctor.”

He rested his good hand on her shoulder. “Inien…”

“Don’t!”

Markus paused. “I’m fine, you realize that, right?”

Silence. They kept walking through the streets like that, letting the sounds of the city wash over what had been unsaid between them since that night.

“I don’t want it to happen again,” Inien finally said.

“I know, but if we can’t find one soon, it won’t be the end of the world, okay?”

“…Okay.” Markus gave her shoulder a quick squeeze before shoving that hand into his pocket.

Luckily, they had found the person who they were looking for. She was spoken highly of, those in the Alaran hospital had attested to that. Her ability to heal was unmatched by any other person who bothered to lend a hand there. It was a shock that she wasn’t an actual doctor, but no one asked questions. It was part of the policy.

What they had been able to find out was she worked at a printing press near the outskirts of the city. Her specific job was unknown, but a building was all Markus and Inien needed.

Even more luck fell upon them when they found her loitering around the outside, on a lunch break. Her white hair was in disarray, with ink splotches all over her trousers. Despite that she still held herself with some air for authority. Out of all the workers walking around, she stood out.

As they approached, she looked up at them, narrowing her eyes.

“What do you two want?”

Inien shrugged, “We need a doctor.”

“ ‘ow good?”

“Excuse me?”

“ ‘ow good of a doctor? I never got my degree.”

“Kicked out?”

The woman grit her teeth. “Money problems. Father refused to pay the rest, I didn’t have enough, I dropped out just before I would ‘ave graduated.”

“Well, we don’t care about that.” Markus cut in, glaring at Inien briefly before putting on another charming smile. “I’m Markus Velafi and we’ve heard you’re very good at what you do.”

The woman stared at the two of them. “Who’s the patient?”

Markus gave Inien a quick glance. “It’s more so we want to hire you for when the situation is needed. We want you to be on hand in case we get hurt.”

Inien butted in, slipping Ashe the number for what could be her paycheck. The number made her eyes go wide, but she schooled her expression quickly.

“What’s the business?”

“It’s a speakea-”

“I’m in.”

Markus and Inien shared a look.

“Really?” Inien asked.

The other woman nodded. “I haven’t had a drink in forever. You bet your ass I’ll take the job.”

Inien grinned and held out her hand. “Alright then, what’s your name.”

“Aesling, but call me Ashe.”

They shook hands.

-=-=-=-=-

From there, their business only grew. The basement area under Ol’ Inny’s place was turned into storage as they found a larger place, under a bakery run by a woman named “Dont,” where they had plenty of room to turn it into a proper speakeasy.

Thog, while still essentially the co-head of the place along with Inien, ran the bar, ignoring Markus when he tried to get him to flip bottles and put on a show. He’d roll his eyes, but when the bar emptied, he’d try flipping an empty bottle, just to see if he could do it (He couldn’t). Ashe helped him on the busier nights, when she wasn’t stitching someone up in the back or threatening someone with surgical equipment (Inien hadn’t expected her to be so good at it. It both scared and intrigued her).

Gregor and Zalvetta turned out to be key as more shipments came in and they needed a path clear of police. Their skills also became useful as people started not keeping up their promises.

Markus turned to be the sole employer, finding more people to build upon their so-called “empire” as Inien liked to brag. He found Firi, a flapper and a girl good wit organization, at a dance class. Batty, their bouncer, he found in alley as she beat up the man who tried to rob from her. Moren… Markus never told them how he found Moren, avoiding the question with wild gestures and a blush across his face. He slipped dollars to the orphan kids so they would make quick deliveries and return with all the cash owed.

All the while Inien sat back on her throne (it was the least rickety chair in the place) and grinned, ecstatic her once crazy idea had pulled through.

It was good to be the Queen.


End file.
